


Upon a Sunlit Moor

by donutsweeper



Category: The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8754421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutsweeper/pseuds/donutsweeper
Summary: A case takes a dramatic turn for Basil and Dawson.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookinguptales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookinguptales/gifts).



> Thanks to Beatrice_Otter for the beta!

Basil considered himself an extremely intelligent mouse. Not only was his intellect well above the norm, but he had spent a lifetime researching and experimenting and studying to further his knowledge in ways most mice never dreamed of. He could identify where in London someone had travelled by the merest smudge of dirt remaining on their shoe. He knew which tests were needed to determine the chemical makeup of practically every poison in the civilized world. He had solved a multitude of cases in his career and saved numerous lives.

Yet never in his life had he never felt more useless or inept than he did at the current moment.

"Dawson?" he called out, expecting, and unfortunately receiving, the same lack of reply as he had the last few times he'd attempted to rouse his friend.

This was all his fault. The case had been going well; Basil had, thanks to a brilliant bit of deductive reasoning, traced Lady Witherspoon's missing necklace to where the former maid, Harriet Forrester, had secreted it in the woods at the far end of the estate, but he had failed to suspect that the Lord's game warden was involved with the theft as well and had been following them from the moment they left the manor.

Somehow Dawson had suspected something but, damn the mouse, he had been careful not to let his wariness show. It was only after the first bullet struck the outcropping just above their heads that Dawson showed his hand, pushing Basil down and yelling, "Give yourself up, Charlton!"

Charlton being involved explained so much! Basil couldn't believe he'd missed it, of course the man had been involved; most likely having labouring under some sort of infatuation with the maid, he would have been an easy mark when she'd needed his aid in procuring an adequate hiding spot for the jewelry. How could he not have seen it? Three more shots peppered the rocks behind them, pulling Basil out of his revelations. "Currently you're only an accomplice after the fact to a robbery, do not add attempted murder to your list of crimes!" His shout was most likely muffled slightly by Dawson's bulk, but he was confident his voice carried far enough to be heard.

Dawson had pulled out his own weapon and returned fire. Basil did not doubt in his friend's skill, but a revolver, no matter the marksman behind it, did not have the range nor long distance accuracy of a rifle. "Stay down, Basil," Dawson admonished when Basil had tried to shift to see over the scrub. "He hasn't the proper angle as long as we remain right here, behind this cover. With the wind picking up he'll not be able to manage an accurate shot, not with that old breech-loader he's sporting."

"Well, that's all well and good," Basil groused, "but that means we're trapped here, pinned in by the rocks and scrub, unable to do anything but wait for him to move to a better vantage point to be able to kill us!"

Dawson had merely laughed. "Yes, and it is about to snow as well!"

"I fail to see how you can find any humour in this situation!"

"I left word with Inspector Bardle that if we did not return with the necklace before tea that he should come search for us, for it meant we had been waylaid by Miss Forrester's accomplice. As it took us much longer to traverse the moor than I'd estimated, he and his men should be arriving shortly."

That statement shocked Basil to the point of almost momentary speechlessness. "You knew she had not acted alone?" he asked once he was able to form words again.

"I suspected, Basil. I didn't think she, or her ilk, were the type to slog through mire and muck to hide a necklace away from prying eyes. Had it been secreted in the pantry or under some floorboards, perhaps. But out here? No, it seemed unlikely. But as we were always within earshot of the staff there was no way to express my doubts to you without overplaying our hand so I chose to pass a note to the good inspector instead. I rather assumed I was mistaken, after all, if the great Basil of Baker Street had not considered—"

"Dawson!" Unable to look the mouse in the eye, Basil resorted to patting what he could reach, the arm Dawson was pinning him with. "It is true you are not to my level at deductive reasoning, but I shall not hear you disparage yourself! Your abilities at inductive reasoning are beyond satisfactory and I have come to rely on your insight to help me solve my cases."

Basil thought he heard Dawson clear his throat, a sure sign an emotional outburst was eminent, but Charlton must have found himself a better vantage point because before Dawson could speak a new barrage of bullet peppered their hiding place. "Blast it!" Basil cried out. "Dawson, can you return fire?" But no sooner had he asked, he heard the report of other guns as well as the hue and cry from numerous mice in the distance. "Aha! Thank heavens for your message, old chap! The Inspector has arrived, and just in time!" 

Oddly, Dawson neither responded nor moved to allow Basil to rise now that they were no longer in imminent danger.

"Dawson?" Basil couldn't see anything, pressed to the ground and under Dawson as he was, but he could hear the sounds of many mice approaching. "Dawson?" he tried again, this time getting a slight groan in reply.

"Doctor!" someone approaching cried.

"Get a medic!" someone else yelled.

Paws appeared and Dawson was carefully rolled off of Basil. It was only then that Basil was able to see the blood seeping over his friend's unusually pallid face. He could do nothing but watch as Dawson was quickly loaded onto a stretcher and carried back to the manor.

The next few days passed in a haze. Lord Witherspoon arranged for Dawson to have the finest treatment, but, as the doctors kept telling Basil, while the bullet only grazed him head wounds were a tricky thing and the longer Dawson stayed unconscious, the more serious the outcome might be. 

They even had the audacity to suggest to him that Dawson might never awaken; as though a mouse who had survived the horrors of Afghanistan as well as the worst that Ratigan and the other thugs and brigands they'd faced had to offer might let himself be felled by a simple bullet crease! What fools!

But, as time passed, Basil found his faith beginning to waver. 

"Dawson?" he tried, yet again. This time, however, he thought he might have seen Dawson's paw twitch when he called his name.

Gently, Basil scooped Dawson's paw within his own and held it tight. "Come on, old boy," he pleaded. "Time to wake up, you've been lollygagging around here long enough." Dawson's paw twitched again and he shifted on the bed, his head turning towards Basil. "That's it. Come on, Dawson. Open your eyes."

Dawson moaned. "Is it morning already?" Although clear enough to be understood, it seemed to Basil that the words might be slurred slightly, but Dawson was always one for waking slowly, Basil refused to commit to the thought of brain damage just yet.

"Probably," Basil offered, but he honestly couldn't say; the curtains were drawn and he hadn't left Dawson's bedside for more than a quick bite to eat or to snatch a few moment's sleep since Dawson had been brought here. "Either way, it's time for you to wake up."

"If you say." Dawson groaned softly and then blinked open his eyes. "Why Basil, you look positively terrible. What's wrong? Did you stay up throughout the night again? We've talked about that, Basil, it isn't healthy! You need to take better care of yourself."

Basil couldn't help but grin as Dawson's speech became stronger and firmer as he spoke, even when it turned into a lecture. A lecture! On his health! Normally he'd snipe and argue over Dawson's fussing and unnecessary rebuke, but today it sounded wonderful. "You are quite right, my dear boy," he said, squeezing Dawson's paw tightly. "Quite right indeed."


End file.
